Tuesday, September 14, 2010

I wish aliens would abduct her for a change (and other crappy comebacks)

I’m always 5-10 minutes late. No matter what time I leave the house, the universe fast forwards me. Either that or aliens briefly abduct me on a daily basis.

Having a child has only exacerbated the matter:

“Junior, we need to leave. Let’s put your shoes on. Help me find your shoes. Can you come here so I can put your shoes on? Please come over here so I can put your shoes on. Don’t throw your shoe! If you want to put your shoe on by yourself please use your words and tell me you want to put it on yourself. You’re a big boy. Use your words. Junior, you did put your shoe on all by yourself. Why did you throw your other shoe? We don’t throw things. If you don’t sit down right now and put your other shoe on there will be no stories at bedtime. I mean it. I’m going to count to five. One...two...you better come over here. And bring your shoe. Three...four...I mean it. Good. Now sit down please so we can PUT YOUR OTHER SHOE ON. Wait, why is it sticky and wet? Junior, did you pour orange juice into your shoe?”

Needless to say my 5-10 minute window has ballooned into 15-30 minutes, especially on days when I drop off Junior at pre-school. Drop-off is getting better, but it's still not smooth sailing.

My new boss, who is also a mother, understands. She knows that I skip my lunch on days I am late or that I bring work home with me.

It’s a wonderful thing, an understanding boss.

What’s not wonderful are coworkers who mistakenly believe that being a working parent is like having a golden ticket to ride the gravy train. Case in point, last Wednesday. I was late to work because of Junior’s tearful drop-off. I didn’t have a meeting scheduled, so I didn’t stress about it. As usual, I skipped lunch and got ready to head out at five. My coworker Amber, whose office is next to mine, gave me a syrupy smile on the way out.

“Do they have doggie daycares?” she asked me sweetly.

“I think so—”

“I’m going to enroll my dog in doggie daycare. That way I can be late to work and leave on time too.” She picked up her phone and dialed, then gave me a beauty pageant wave goodbye.

That douche. Not only had she verbally body slammed me, she’d strategically thwarted me from confronting her. The bitch was good. Real good.

I seethed on the way home. During dinner. During dishes. During teeth brushing. I seethed so much I sprung a leak. As I seethed, I ran through possible comeback lines like “Oh yah?! I hope your dog chokes on a Milkbone!” and “Oh yah?! Well, you should!”

Myah, pretty pathetic stuff.

Now it’s been a week. Now it seems stupid to say something. Now I feel like the ass because I’m the one hanging on to my anger when really, I should just let it go.

I SO feel the need to comment! I am a seether and a working, single parent and I work my butt off every.single.day!

I would walk into her office tomorrow, close the door and start the conversation with 'That comment that you made last week really disturbed me'... and then map out your arrangement with your boss. She may have some stupid comeback but you WILL feel better afterwards for just getting it out there! Trust me! Better to address it than leave it! Confrontation works best with verbal bullies!

Wow. Just wow. People can be such f-kers. I believe in karma. Truly and completely. If this girl ever gets pregnant (and lord help us all if she procreates), she'll be the one puking in the garbage can next to her desk. For ALL nine months. Guaranteed.Feel better?:) Robincinnamon & honey

I would sweetly smile one day and say, "You know, I was thinking, since you have so much time to sit around worrying about what I do everyday, that maybe it would give you peace of mind to know that I do not take lunch on the days that I arrive later than usual. Your comment the other day about 'doggy daycare' was so cute, you must of really thought extra hard to come up with it. In the future if you have a problem with how my workday goes, I advise you to have a talk with our boss, who, by the way, has determined that my arrangement with HER is appropriate. I don't tell you how to answer phones, or update your facebook, so let me relieve you of whatever burning desire you may have to ever talk about it with me again. Thanks, sweetie. Oh, and have a nice time with your dog tonight!"

Is it wrong for me to encourage more bitchiness? If it helps, I think her whole statement was mental and tacky. Doggie freaking daycare... please.

You know what? This happens at my office too. All the time. TO me, to other co-workers. . .and quite frankly if the boss understands, then those snotty women without kids should shut up and stop worrying that you're getting some special treatment that they're not. Next time she makes a remark, because she will, tell her, "Actually it is nice being favored because of my fertility. Thank you."

you looked up doggie daycare info, printed it out, and put it on her desk with a box of cheap-o sandwich baggies (the fold overs not the ziplocks).

I was going to suggest a snarky note to accompany, but let's just let her wonder what the baggies are for. Poop picker uppers? Bring your lunch and eat it at your desk? Put it over your face and smother yourself?

Okay...I have a foul mouth, but seriously? What a BITCH! I too have coworkers who give me the stinkeye when I am 5 minutes late. Forget about the fact that I never get a break and am lucky if I get to eat lunch. I also never get to leave to pick up my tot on time.And I hate it when I can't think of a comeback in the moment. Then you do that thing in the car where you are talking to yourself to say every comeback you can think of and people in traffic look at you funny. I hope that coworker of yours remembers this if she ever has kids. Ugh!Best,Tina

You should publish her email address and let us all have atter. I’m already composing, “An Ode to Amber - the Selfish Dog-Loving Whore”. She probably won’t be able to trace an email from some random chick living in Saskatchewan back your way.

Try as I might, I cannot stop fantasizing about Chuck being creamed by a Mack truck (I know, poor Chuck, you must think I am the wife from...

ABOUT ME

About me: I'm a 40-something mother to a pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our tween Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler Cam, and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). I'm a freelance graphic designer and writer.